Chapter 55: The Battle's Toll

Chapter 55: The Battle's Toll

"How are you still standing?" Onaville's incredulous gaze fell upon the weakened Vervill, the aftermath of their intense clash defying all expectations.

"Hehe, you're right! We are wandering elves... We have no home! But we still have something worth fighting for!" Vervill's voice was hoarse, yet resolute.

The history of the prairie elves traced back to the gondolin elves, fleeing the ruins of Gondolin to find refuge in the harsh wastelands. Scattered in tribal families, survival became a daily struggle, their displacement leaving them with no place to call their own.

Vervill's laughter rang out, a touch of madness creeping into his demeanor as the wood-type fighting spirit within him began to transform under the influence of Manikati.

"You're insane! Altering your own attributes like this is suicidal!" Onaville recoiled in fear at the sight of Vervill's transformation.

"Since nature's power failed to protect us, let the fire of our resolve ignite the world!" Vervill's entire being blazed with newfound intensity, the wood-type battle aura giving way to a fiery manifestation.

"Embrace the flames!" Vervill advanced, flames licking at his form, a towering inferno engulfing him as he pressed forward.

"Don't come any closer, you madman!" Onaville's voice trembled as he witnessed Vervill's fiery metamorphosis, the flames reaching heights that dwarfed them both.

"Yes, I am but a wretched soul... a forsaken outcast unable to shield his kin. Will you grant me the release I seek?" Vervill's chilling words cut through the crackling flames.

"Boom!" The unstable fire element within Vervill erupted, a wave of power surging forth and scattering the half-orcs before him, awakening the blood of the elf king within him.

"Death!" Manikati descended, unleashing the full force of a sixth-order stalker's prowess.

"Impossible!" Onaville's disbelief was palpable as Vervill's sudden transformation defied all logic, elevating him from a fourth-order ranger to a sixth-order elf king in an instant.

"Roland, you were right! I am worthy of the crown!" Vervill's gaze shifted to the Paladin, who stood at a distance, battling the orcs that threatened to overwhelm them.

"The Hunting Moon!" Vervill invoked a signature move reminiscent of Thranduil, a crescent moon materializing behind him.

"Bang!" The crescent moon cleaved through the orcs in a deadly arc, leaving a trail of carnage in its wake.

"Die!" Manikati descended upon Onaville with lethal intent.

"Clang!" Onaville's warhammer clashed with Manikati, but the sword's scorching edge found its mark, piercing through armor and flesh alike.

"Ow!" Onaville cried out in pain as Vervill's blade cut through his defenses, sending him reeling back into the throng of half-beasts.

"Hunt!" Vervill's battle aura marked Onaville, revealing his vulnerability amidst the chaos.

"Flee if you dare, but know that the hunt is on!" Vervill's grin was feral as he unleashed a whirlwind of blades, carving a path through the enemy ranks.

"Kill!" A steel lance pierced through the chaos, the Paladin rejoining the fray as the Knights regrouped to push back the orcs.

"What has come over you, Vervill?" Roland's voice cut through the chaos, his gaze falling upon the flame-wreathed warrior.

"Where is Carlos? Why is he not on the dragon's back?" Reynold inquired, concern etched on his face.

"He was injured, shielded by our comrades in the midst of battle," Vervill's voice was strained as he relayed the news.

"Are you now a Tier 6? What sorcery is this?" Roland's astonishment was evident as he realized Vervill's newfound power.

"Thank you, Manikati... She has forged me into what I am now," Vervill acknowledged, a sense of gratitude in his voice.

"But there is one more task at hand," Vervill's eyes gleamed with determination.

"Is this the one you seek?" Roland held up the battered form of Onaville, defeated and broken amidst the chaos.

"Who is this? He bears no resemblance to an orc," Roland observed, puzzled by the captive's appearance.

"I am Onaville, the great king of the wasteland orcs! Despicable elf! Filthy humans..." Onaville's defiant words were cut short as Roland swiftly ended his tirade.

"Haha, a mere nuisance," Roland dismissed the fallen foe with a casual wave.

"Attend to the wounded! Pursue the fleeing orcs! We cannot allow them to regroup in these lands!" Roland's command rang out, the aftermath of battle demanding swift action.

...

"His Royal Highness! We have upheld our oath, though at great cost... Our fallen comrades shall be remembered," a soldier's final words echoed in Roland's ears, a somber reminder of the sacrifices made in battle.

"No!" Roland's grief was palpable as he attempted to revive the fallen soldier, his efforts in vain against the cruel hand of fate.

"This...," Roland's gaze swept over the battlefield, the fallen comrades a stark reminder of the price of war.

"You have fought valiantly," Roland addressed the remaining soldiers, his respect evident in his words.

...

"My people! My brothers! My soldiers! You have proven your mettle and valor! I offer my sincerest apologies for any past misjudgments. You are the pride of Lagrand! May the swift river guide your souls," Roland's words carried a weight of gratitude and remorse as he addressed the assembled soldiers.

"It is done! Let us return our fallen brethren to their resting place," Roland's voice held a note of finality as he bid farewell to the fallen soldiers.

"It is over?" Carlos, lying on a stretcher, questioned Vervill, seeking confirmation amidst the aftermath of battle.

"Yes, it is over," Vervill's voice was soft, his gaze lingering on Manikati, a silent testament to the trials they had endured.

"But the true test lies ahead... Congratulations, Lord Vervill. By elven tradition, you are now the king of the prairie elves," Reynold's words marked a new chapter in Vervill's journey, his destiny forever altered by the events of the battlefield.

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